


A Fickle Hand

by Everyday_Im_Preaching



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Bad Luck, Confessions, Fantasy, First Kiss, Flirting, God-Touched!Jack, Kissing, M/M, Magic!Jack, Modern Fantasy, Neck Kissing, Revenge, Soft feelings, Soft!Chase, Unlucky!Jack, Wooing, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:19:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Preaching/pseuds/Everyday_Im_Preaching
Summary: Jack is unlucky; far unluckier than any mortal should be. And there's a good reason.He's god-touched.Considering his life to be a star-crossed tragedy, Jack finds himself working at a gambling den. He lives each day as it comes, constantly on high-alert and awaiting the next bit of misfortune life offers him. That is, until a strange man enters his life with a kindness that Jack's not used to, and certainly doesn't trust.





	A Fickle Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sappuppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sappuppet/gifts).



> Well hello there!
> 
> If you're one of my regulars, Spoils of War will be updated on Thursday-Friday. Hopefully. I'm working on it right now, anyhow. If you've been wondering where I've been, it's mostly been in a nest of blankets on my bed being depressed. So, that's fun. 
> 
> This is a commissioned piece for Sappuppet.

 

It was the smell of coffee, bitter and burnt from being over-brewed, that had a scowl breaking through the pleasant smile on Jack’s face. The lights flickered as he stepped into the employee lounge, threatening to go out. He gritted his teeth, trying not to spit—he had to get to the sink and take some sort of wet rag or paper towel to his shirt before it stained.

“This is the third time tonight,” Jack growled out, grabbing a fistful of paper towels. A patron had dumped their drink, a dark and overpriced beer, all over the front of his shirt and trousers. “Fucking bad luck, I swear to—” He cut himself off. There was no use in poking a sleeping tiger, after all. It was a god that had got him into this mess, and he certainly didn’t think one was going to get him  _ out. _

Jack was what people called  _ god-touched.  _ The dark triangle on the bottom of his foot, the raised triangle of flesh near his navel. He’d been born with both, and at first, his parents had thought themselves blessed. It was often that luck was bestowed on children, and certainly not a newborn. That was, until they realised that it wasn’t a gift at all—but a  _ curse. _

It wasn’t that Jack hadn’t been granted incredible luck—it was that the luck was never  _ his  _ to use. His luck would bleed away to anyone in the surrounding area, siphoned away from him without warning. His stomach would turn and his body would feel deplorably empty, aching like he was covered in bruises. Not to mention that in absence of good luck, bad luck filled its place.

“Spicer.” His manager ducked his head back in; a greasy haired man with no interest in personal hygiene that hated Jack more than he hated himself. “Get back out on the floor.”

“’M on it,” Jack grumbled, tossing the paper towels into the trash can. He’d scrubbed as much of the smell off him as he could, though he knew he still smelled worse than a divorced white woman at brunch. He tucked his shirt back in, not bothering to care about the wet shirt sticking to him—he’d dealt with worse.

By the time that Jack had gotten back onto the floor, a few new faces had piled into the building. Jack grunted and wiped his hands on his pants, looking for an open poker table; he was a dealer at a… Well, the  _ nice  _ way to say it was a casino. But it was a gambling den, plain and simple. It was one of the only work-arounds that Jack could think of to find a job, with his curse.

Scanning the crowd, he noticed a particularly out of place, broad-shouldered man standing near the entrance. He looked…  _ homeless.  _ He was filthy, hair matted, and clothes torn just enough to suggest several rough nights sleeping outside. Jack stared at him for a moment, wondering how he’d gotten in—and then he shrugged. It was none of his business, not unless the man started something. If he was really a distraction, the bouncers would toss him out sooner rather than later.

The first empty table he found had several familiar faces sitting around it. Syd, a well-to-do science teacher sat with her head perched in her hand and a neutral expression painted on her face. Next to her was Rosner, a witch, and then Lucas. The seat at the end sat empty, which was fine with Jack.

Jack greeted the three, quiet and unassuming. He began to shuffle the deck of cards near him, trying not to think anything toward them—he didn’t want to affect the cards more than he already did. He was about to deal when he noticed the homeless man hovering nearby, watching him.

He didn’t react, not outwardly. Instead, he greeted his players, welcoming them back to the Crown Rose. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man still there, still hovering. But this time he had a drink in his hand. Focusing back on the cards, he dealt them out. The man would leave soon enough. People didn’t hang around him long, unable to draw the connection between their newly found luck and himself.

After a round or two, Jack could see his players growing agitated with his presence—he excused himself, moving to the next closest table. The dealer that had been standing there gave him a look of utter contempt, before taking the table he’d vacated. He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at him—the idea was childish, and would no doubt cause some manner of bad luck to come down upon him.

He saw the shabbily dressed man move—well, he saw his  _ hair  _ move first. It was a black, tangled mess, decorated with leaves and sticks. From the nearby brush, no doubt. Jack tried to ignore him; nerves, in the form of bile, bubbled in his stomach viciously, nauseating him. It was unsettling, to have a patron notice him. He swallowed and focused on his game; the people playing chatted quietly with one another. Most of the patrons were quiet right now; it was the beginning of the night, after all. No one was quite drunk enough to raise a fuss.

But the noise would come. With time.

The rotation occurred twice more. With each table, his nervousness fizzed—and then transformed into curiosity. Nobody  _ wanted  _ to be around him. They found his presence distasteful, after exposed to it for too long. Even those who wished him ill were dissuaded. Even with his wretched appearance, the man hovering around Jack had as much of Jack’s attention that he could spare.

_ If he took a shower,  _ Jack mused, dealing out the cards.  _ Maybe cleaned himself up a bit—he might look a little handsome.  _ He had a slender face, with high, noble cheek bones. His nose was partially upturned, a poor introduction to his petaled lips and pointed chin.

“Royal flush.” It was smug—Jack turned back to the table, faux smile lighting up his face.

“Congratulations, sir,” Jack told him over the half-muttered groans of the men on either side of him.

 

It was a week, before Jack saw the man again. And when he did, he choked on his own spit and had to excuse himself from his table to handle the ensuing coughing fit. After a suspiciously lukewarm cup of water, he was back out on the floor, taking up the table from before. As if on cue, the man slid into the first empty chair—fingers, long and delicate (and manicured,  _ geez)  _ steepled.

“Hello.” The greeting was warm. Pleasant, even. Jack nodded at him, shuffling his cards absentmindedly. He was  _ beautiful.  _ The tangled, matted mess of his hair was now lush and full, shining in the lights of the casino. His clothing was fine silk—Jack didn’t need to touch it to know.

“Hello,” Jack greeted quietly, looking away; the man’s eyes were focused on him, almost gold in the light. Had they been that sharp, when he’d seen them before? Surely they had to have been. “New to town?”

A low chuckle, then. The sound had the hair on the back of Jack’s neck standing up. “There are few things new to this town, anymore, and I am sad to say that does not include me,” he replied. His voice was rough, and crackled like the embers of a dying fire. “But I am new to this establishment, as it were.” He offered his hand, calloused and rough as it was. “My name is Chase Young.”

Jack eyed the hand warily, then flicked his eyes up to Chase’s face. He seemed kind enough. But he still didn’t put his deck down. He flashed it at Chase as if in explanation, and he nodded.

“I see. Rather not risk tainting the cards, hm?” Chase withdrew his hand to himself, folding it back in its twin. His eyes flicked over Jack’s upper torso, and then focused on his face. “The flowers in your hair,” Chase gestured at the white gardenias entwined in Jack’s hair. “They compliment your skin colour nicely.”

Jack’s cheeks heated at the compliment, and he reached up to draw a finger down one of the outer petals. “Thank you,” he whispered, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. Chase shifted in his seat, eyes burning into Jack’s skin.

“They’re for good luck, are they not?” Chase asked. “Perhaps they’ll bring me good luck as well.” His lips curled into a smile; it was supposed to be friendly, but there was something…  _ predatory,  _ in it. Hungry. 

It should have scared Jack, but he just cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of good luck, at my table,” Jack assured him. He looked at the door, watching a few regulars trickle in—hopefully the night would pick up again. The fewer the customers, the slower the night. “You should have some playing companions soon, by the look of it.”

Chase cocked his head to the side, smile falling. His expression became almost cutely puzzled. “But I’ve the only companion I desire.” He gestured at Jack, and then chuckled when Jack’s face reddened further. He was beginning to wonder if he had a temperature, if he needed to lie down—he had to be hallucinating. This man, this  _ handsome  _ gentleman, was flirting with him, and playfully at that.

“That’s, uh.” Jack cleared his throat, trying to find something to say. “I, oh, thank you, aha.” He rose a hand and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“If I might,” Chase continued, fingers once again interlocking. “Before the crowd sets upon us— _ you.  _ I imagine you are a popular dealer, here, and I would hate to take too much of your time. Greed does a man like me no favours.” There was a bit of grit in his voice as he said it, catching in his throat. “I would like to join you for dinner.”

Jack tried his best not to seem shocked, though he knew he failed, if the bemused expression on his face were anything to go by. “Dinner? That’s rather upfront.”

“There is no reason not to be.” Chase straightened. Jack hadn’t even seen him slumped over—sitting up, he was much taller. Toweringly so. “I find you attractive.”

Another patron slipped into a seat, beer in hand, giving Jack no time to respond. Chase seemed peeved but resigned himself to actually playing the game in front of him. Jack’s mind was abuzz with activity, trying to fit together the pieces. Could he risk dinner with this stranger? Did he  _ want  _ to risk dinner with him? It was no turning point in his luck, certainly not. His luck was tried and true, broken down and awful like his heater last winter. And sure to be his heater this year as well.

He decided that, yes, he wanted to risk it. Good things came to those who took risks. Even if they ended in some miserable one-night stand and his apartment smelling of thick cigarette smoke.

“Thank you, for agreeing,” Chase greeted as Jack popped out of the front door of the gambling den. He nodded and shifted from foot to foot. “There is a nice place up the road, a bit. Jingzun’s. I hope that this is acceptable.”

The more Jack listened to Chase’s accent, the less Chinese it became. It was something… more. Unidentifiable. But  _ beautiful  _ in a way he never could have imagined. Its warmth transferred to him, blossoming in his chest.

“It’s fine,” Jack told him, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. His mittens had gone missing again, and his scarf had started to fray, despite being bought yesterday. He’d been to Jingzun’s, once or twice. The food wasn’t bad—undercooked and cold, in his case—but not bad. Just a little pricey for his wallet.

“I am sorry, if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Chase suddenly apologised. Jack jerked his head up to look at him, shoulders shaking slightly in the cold. Chase stopped in his tracks. “I mean you no harm.”

Jack narrowed his eyes, though it was playful. “Ah, nah, don’t worry about it. I’m not scared of you,” He swayed slightly toward him. Chase smiled. “There are a lot scarier things in this world than handsome, suspicious strangers.” He pursed his lips. “Kind of handsome strangers.”

Chase snorted, and then laughed. “Kind of?” He had moved closer as well, and his body heat was tempting. Jack looked up, watching the streetlights above him flicker. He let out a grunt of malcontent. “They’re wilting,” Chase suddenly said, getting Jack to look at him.

“What?” He asked. Chase reached a gloved hand up, and carefully pulled a wilted, browning flower from Jack’s hair. He furrowed his brow. “Oh.”

“They were perfectly healthy at the beginning of this evening,” Chase murmured, turning the  _ very  _ dead flower over in his fingers. “Interesting.” He offered it to Jack, who shook his head. “Some flowers brown faster, I suppose.”

Jack nodded, digging his fingers further into his jacket pockets. “Yeah, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “So, what do you do, Mr. Young? For work.”

He clicked his tongue. “Please, call me Chase,” he told him, tucking his hand, flower and all, into his jacket. “I am… in management. I’ve unfortunately been demoted recently, but I’m certain I will reclaim my position and perhaps one a notch higher, sooner rather than later.”

“Shit, why did you get demoted?” Jack asked, wondering if he still had some cigarettes tucked in his bag.

“A… misunderstanding,” Chase answered after what felt like an age. “Between me and my supervisor. My position hasn’t been filled yet, and I am certain that no one is quite as qualified as myself. For now, my work keeps me satisfied.”

“Well, in this economy, any job is a good job, especially if it pays the bills,” Jack huffed out. He could see the restaurant now, sign winking at them. “You saw what I do for a living. Exciting, right?” He paused, opening his bag and going to dig in it. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you? I know we’re almost at the restaurant but I’ve been dying for a cig since seven.”

Chase nodded at him. “Not at all. We all have a vice we must cater to.” He turned his head up, cocking a brow at the light above Jack.

“Shit, nevermind,” Jack grunted, pulling his hand free. “All that’s in there is a broken pen.” He offered his ink-stained fingers. “What sort of fucking luck is that. Don’t even have a cigarette.” Jack hastily pulled out a napkin and wet it with his tongue. He scrubbed at his fingers, brow furrowing.

“Here.” Chase motioned for his hand. Jack offered it and the napkin. Chase moved it in gentle strokes, and Jack watched as the ink slowly faded under the gentle attention. “Scrubbing furiously only sets it deeper, much like cloth. I’m afraid you might be stuck with dark fingers for a few days, all the same.”

Jack then watched as Chase brought the fingers to his mouth and kissed at his knuckles. Jack’s heart stuttered in his chest, and when his hand was let go, he cradled it close to his chest.

“We should be off now, before they close down the kitchen,” Chase teased. He took the dirty napkin as well, shoving it in the same pocket as the flower. “No doubt you’re hungry.”

“Starving.”

Dinner was surprisingly good, that night. Lukewarm, but thoroughly cooked. And it was even better the next evening, when Chase asked him out again—and again, and  _ again.  _ Each night had Jack even more suspicious than the last. His luck was bound to turn—bound to flip the budding relationship on its head.

When Chase tried to kiss him for the first time, he’d ducked away, bringing a hand up to block it from.

“I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he muttered, not willing to look at Chase. Chase had backed off immediately, not bothering to ask why. A cold wind suddenly blew, sharp and bitter as it dug into Jack’s sides. He shuddered and gritted his teeth—thunder soon followed, rolling through the clouds above the two of them.

Jack cursed. He’d lost his jacket that day as well—he didn’t know where it’d gone. With his luck, into the trash. “Fuck,” he muttered out through chattering teeth. Chase frowned and shrugged off his jacket. “No, you don’t have too—I’ll probably lose it—”

The warm, heavy jacket was tossed over Jack’s shoulders. Chase was blatantly ignoring his complaints, now zipping it to protect him from the weather. After a second or two, he also pulled his hat free from his head and plopped the too-big accessory onto Jack’s mess of red hair.

“I can afford a new jacket, if it means you won’t get ill,” Chase assured him. “The storm is rather sudden, however.” He peered up at the sky; Jack’s eyes widened—he swore he could see the water bouncing off of Chase—but not really  _ off  _ of him. It was like a barrier was there, preventing him from getting wet. He could almost see the glow of it.

Jack shook his head. He was imagining things.

“You already know that I’m terribly unlucky,” Jack accused.

Chase snorted in disbelief. “You’re saying this—” He gestured at the thick droplets of rain that were now dancing on the stone street. “—Is your fault? I hardly think it’s fair to blame it on you.” He smiled, watching as Jack tried to tilt the hat up to see. “I feel as if luck has smiled on the both of us, as it’s brought me to you.”

Fire burned its way across Jack’s face and instead of pushing the hat  _ out  _ of his eyes, he pulled it down to hide them. His shoulders began to shake as tears welled up in the corners of his eyes.

“Jack?”

“You’re so sappy,” Jack choked out. “And sweet. I… I just…” He swallowed. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Smooth fingers wrapped around one of Jack’s hands and tugged it free. Jack felt it tugged up, and a soft kiss was pressed to his knuckles. Jack peeked at Chase, blinking away the unbidden tears. He looked unnecessarily kind—Jack tried to remember the last time someone had looked at him like that. It wasn’t even a look filled with  _ pity.  _ Chase just looked fondly at him, waiting patiently for him to look up fully.

“You also have a dumb accent,” Jack finally said with a sniff.

Chase snorted and shook his head. “The storm won’t lessen anytime soon. Let’s get you home.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, but Chase?” He cleared his throat and rubbed at the back of his neck. Chase made a soft noise in reply, looking down at him.  _ Gods,  _ he was tall. Jack stood on his tippy toes and tilted his head upward—Chase startled when lips pressed against his, blinking dumbly as Jack pulled away. “I’m serious. Thank you.”

The smile that split his face had Jack blushing furiously, ears turning a particularly unflattering shade of scarlet. Chase turned back toward the path in front of them an offered Jack his hand. Jack took it after a moment’s careful consideration, letting Chase intertwine their fingers.

Again, Jack noticed how the rain almost refused to touch him. He didn’t look wet at  _ all  _ despite the fact that he was standing directly in the middle of a rain storm. He smiled, and then ducked his head. He squeezed Chase’s hands tighter, and for the first time in his life, looked up as he walked.

Despite how ridiculously large the coat looked on him, hanging well past his knees, he didn’t trip—it didn’t catch on the door when he slipped inside, didn’t hook itself on a spare splinter that the wall provided every other day. No, he made it in his house safely, in one piece, and high on a feeling he couldn’t describe. His lips tingled where he’d kissed Chase—he could still taste the faint flavour of the wine he’d had that evening.

He was in a daze, when he stepped into the kitchen. The rattling of the heater snapped Jack back into reality. He groaned when he realised that his heater was blinking red, and when he went over to check, it wasn’t putting out any heat. He took in a sharp breath through his nose, and then shook his head, willing himself not to get mad.

Jack turned toward the countertop and stopped. On top of it was his box of cigarettes, looking untouched and still full—well, minus one or two. He never could get a full box. Picking it up, he flipped it open. He cocked an eyebrow. Well, he  _ normally  _ couldn’t get a full box.

He shut it, and then made his way to the bedroom. He could feel the chill on his fingers and cheeks, but the rest of him was  _ warm.  _ He curled his arms around himself, squeezing the oversized jacket around his middle. His cheeks heated with the action—and he was  _ warm.  _ He couldn’t believe his—

He jerked up and cut himself off before he finished the thought. Jack just couldn’t believe it, that was all. No reason to draw the ire of the curse, after all. Not when his life was starting to go so  _ well.  _ The eggs in his fridge hadn’t even spoiled yet and his milk hadn’t soured. Yes, the heater was out—but the door hadn’t stuck and neither did his key.

 

And yet.

And yet Jack knew it was too good to be true.

It seemed like no time at all; the days all blurred together, melting into a warm pot of charmed days and soft kisses. And  _ oh,  _ they were soft kisses. Afternoon lunches on park benches that stayed in one piece. Jack didn’t get hit by a  _ single  _ frisbee. Late night conversations in the middle of a rainstorm, breathing in the soft scent of petrichor and ozone, exchanging foggy breaths.

But tonight—tonight was going to ruin all that. It’d started out fine; the regulars sat down at his table, gathering their cards. Each one, in quick succession (Chase included) furrowed their brows. As the game progressed, more and more of them flitted away to other tables to try their luck.

_ They weren’t siphoning his luck anymore.  _ No one was able to win more than one round; others weren’t able to win at all, staring at their cards as if cursed. But not a single one spilled their drink on Jack or swore—they just moved on, as if they were imitating ghosts. No streaks were had, no one could be convinced to stay.

Except Chase.

Chase was sitting there, fingers steepled—his expression had smoothed out and a pleased smile had crossed his mouth, as if he couldn’t be happier that he’d lost nearly all his chips. And that smile was for  _ Jack. _

Jack felt his heart beat wildly in his chest, focusing on the deck in his hands. He had to get off the floor. He had to get someone else to deal the next hand. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a shallow breath, ignoring Chase as he voiced his concern.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t deal this next hand—Chase had never lost on anything but technicality before. And now he was losing. Every. Single. Game. If he lost this last one, if Jack took  _ all  _ his money in a single night—the worst, most  _ successful  _ night he’d have—it could destroy their relationship. It  _ would  _ destroy their relationship.

It would destroy the hot meals and pleasant company. It would destroy the vague dreams of a future with him that had niggled into the deepest corners of his mind. Jack let out a whistled breath, and then looked up at Chase; he offered him a soft smile and began to deal the cards. No one was coming to his rescue, despite how uncomfortably he’d looked around a moment before—they were short staffed. They were  _ always  _ short staffed when it was his shift.

Jack almost walked away, when Chase revealed his hand. His  _ bad  _ hand. It was absolutely awful—there was no way he could have won with it. With a dramatic sigh, Chase flicked his final chips toward Jack, mouth screwing into a frown.

“That’s the first time I’ve lost in a very long time,” Chase revealed, eyes falling to look at Jack’s hand. He pursed his lips, and then his lips blossomed back into a smile—when he looked back up, however, Jack was moving away from the table. “Jack?”

Instead of looking back, Jack pushed his way into the break room, eyes wet.

“Shit, Spicer, you okay?” A gruff voice asked. His  _ manager’s  _ voice. Jack startled at it—Vince never asked him if he was okay. It was an unspoken rule that he’d gotten the job out of pity.

Jack wiped at his eyes and sniffled, trying not to full out cry. “Yeah, I just,” He blinked away tears. “I cleaned a customer completely out is all. They lost every round.”

Vince frowned. “Since when is that a bad thing?” he questioned, and Jack heard the rattling of a cigarette box. Jack actually  _ did  _ startle, when Vince offered him a cigarette. “Go take a break ‘round back, I’ll have Caitlyn pick up your tables.”

“Thank you?” Jack took the cigarette, genuinely baffled at the kindness. He watched Vince leave, unsure of how to feel. Vince wasn’t  _ nice  _ to him. Ever. He looked at the cigarette in his hand, and then dug in his pocket—surprisingly enough, there was his lighter. Right where he’d left it after his lunch.

After his cigarette, Jack was feeling  _ much  _ better. Not about Chase, no, that was still a gaping pit in his stomach. But he wasn’t crying anymore. He already missed Chase, even though they hadn’t even said goodbye yet. They probably wouldn’t get the chance. Jack wouldn’t get the chance, more like. Chase probably wouldn’t want to see him again.

He returned to the break room, and then back onto the floor. Chase was gone—and Jack let out a sigh of relief. He rolled his sleeves up and gave a smile as some of his regulars looked over at him. Back to work.

At the end of his shift, Jack reluctantly shrugged on Chase’s borrowed jacket. He fisted his hands in the collar and brought it up to his nose. He took a deep breath, and then sighed—it smelled like him still. Jasmine and orange swirled with honeysuckle—Jack swore he would remember the scent until the end of his days. To remind him of the only kindness and luck ever given to him.

“Jack.”

Jack jumped at his name, skittering toward the shadows—until he realised it was Chase. He stopped in his tracks, eyes already growing wet. Thick thumbs reached up and cupped his face. Tears were wiped away before they could fall.

“What bothers you?” Chase asked; his voice was soft, and his touch softer. “Jack.”

“I… I understand if you never want to see me again,” Jack warbled out, wanting to lean into the warmth radiating through Chase’s palms. “After tonight.”

Chase laughed. “You have nothing to worry about,” he promised, drawing his thumbs down the sides of his cheeks, tracing tear tracks that’d escaped him. “I would like to see you many times, far into the future.” He pulled his hand away and pressed his finger to Jack’s lips. “Forgive me, if this is too forward, but I would like to take you into my bed. My home.” He traced the lines of Jack’s lips, drawing a nail along his cupid’s bow.

Jack’s eyes widened at the request. “But…  _ But.”  _ Chase held up a hand, and Jack saw the light glint off the jade ring that adorned Chase’s right hand.

“You won every chip I had, this evening,” Chase purred out. “It troubles you. So, let me offer you a final wager.” He slowly and carefully pulled the ring from his finger. A shot of adrenaline ran through Jack, tingling in his veins. Chase held up the ring into the light and it rolled over the carved, delicate curves of it.

He offered it to Jack. “A simple coin toss. If you win, then it is yours. As well as my winnings tonight.”

“What if you win?” Jack asked quietly, fearing the answer.

Chase shook his head, lips curling into a gentle smile. “I won’t.” He used his other hand to dig in his pockets; he brought forth a round, golden coin that Jack couldn’t identify. It didn’t match any yen piece he’d come across, anyhow. He watched it as Chase twisted it in the light, a mirror image motion of his other hand with the ring.

“We will flip a coin—you will call which face you think will face the sky, when I catch it.” He twisted the coin and sent it scuttling across his knuckles, only to be caught once again by his thumb and forefinger.

“That’s risky,” Jack murmured, though his eyes were trained on the coin. Something in him  _ knew  _ he’d win, if he accepted the challenge. Every bone in his body, every muscle, every hair on his head. He  _ knew  _ it. Without thinking, he spoke again. “I’ll win.”

He got a nod in return. Jack swallowed and then nodded. “Tails,” Jack murmured as Chase nestled coin carefully on his thumb.

“I suppose that leaves me with heads, then,” Chase replied—he gave his thumb a flick, sending the coin flipping up and into the air. Jack swallowed as he watched it, spinning and twisting over itself. Jack wished he could have said time had slowed down, in that moment, that he watched it all in slow motion—but he hadn’t. It was up in the air and then back into Chase’s clenched fist before he could fully comprehend what had happened.

He slapped it against the back of his hand and Jack giggled at the absurdity of it. Chase chuckled with him, and then pulled his hand away.

_ Tails. _

Even though Jack was expecting it, he was shocked; he felt like all the air had been punched from his chest. It was  _ tails.  _ He watched as the coin was tucked away, back in a pocket Jack was sure it didn’t come from. And then Chase was gripping his right hand, tugging it toward him.

“What…” He began to ask, brow furrowing. “What?”

Chase hushed him. He parted Jack’s finger and isolated his ring finger. “I said, if you won, I would give you this ring,” He murmured, sliding it onto Jack’s finger—it fit perfectly, despite being on a finger much larger seconds ago.

Jack stared at his hand, partially thinking of how nice the ring looked against his skin. His stupor was broken when Chase lifted the hand upward and pressed a kiss to Jack’s knuckles. And then Jack was in his arms, mouths tightly pressed together—Jack dug his fingers into Chase’s shirt, hiccupping and whining softly as he was backed up against the nearest wall.

“I need to tell you something,” Chase murmured through a well-timed pant, leaving his voice husky and rough. He pressed his head against Jack’s as he continued to catch his breath. “Do you trust me?” His lips found the side of Jack’s nose, pecking at it delicately.

“Yes,” Jack answered without a second thought.

“Then please, come with me,” Chase asked, not quite a plea. Jack nodded, letting a genuine smile flower on his face. “My lucky little rabbit,” he teased. Jack’s face heated, and he ducked it down. Chase drew his finger down Jack’s cheeks, and it was cold against his skin. “I’ve a place, picked for us.”

Jack cocked an eyebrow. “Picked for us?” he asked, even as he was tugged forward, into the night.

Wherever Chase was leading him, it was out of the city. Buildings and bridges had them wading through a field of soft bentgrass, and it tickled at Jack’s ankles as they crossed through it.

Jack was about to ask where they were going, when Chase stopped; the grass had turned into small buds—no doubt from flowers, but they hadn’t blossomed just yet—Jack didn’t expect them to, as the moon had just begun to pop over the horizon. He looked up at Chase with an inquisitive frown.

Chase let go of his hand and let out a grunt as he sat down, carefully avoiding the flowers. Jack joined him without question, lightly leaning his head against his shoulder. Chase’s arm wrapped tightly around his waist in response, and Jack felt safer than he ever had.

“I have lied to you,” Chase began, staring up at the first sign of stars in the sky. “About the very nature of my being.” Jack could feel the fingers on his waist dig in a bit more.

Jack didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?” he asked, not wanting to ruin the mood.

Chase slowly rose a hand, pointing at the sky. “I am… Jack, I am not a mortal,” He paused. He looked down to the grass between his stunningly immaculate shoes. “And I know this will be hard to believe. I am the former god of Cadmean victory.”

“Okay,” Jack told him, nodding his head. He brought his hand up to his face, rubbing his fingers across his mouth. “So, Cadmean victory—that’s a victory involving one’s own ruin, right?” He ran a hand through his hair, wondering how Chase expected him to believe this crock of shit. “What’d you do?”

“What do you mean?” Chase asked in return.

Jack shifted, pushing gently at the arm around his waist. Chase immediately freed him, though he looked displeased.

“I mean, what did you do?” Jack asked. “If you’re a god, you wouldn’t be down here with us—you wouldn’t be down here with us mortals, anyway. And you definitely wouldn’t be hanging out with me. You would have seen the true nature of this curse I have and jetted.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“I have seen the true nature of the magic put on you,” Chase offered, hands both falling in his lap and fingers intertwining. “And it is no curse.” He turned toward Jack, legs still folded; Jack tried to ignore the fact that his shirt was partially unbuttoned, showing bits of creamy, smooth skin beneath.

_ Man I love a man without chest hair,  _ Jack mused. He flicked his eyes up to watch Chase’s mouth moving—he shook his head to snap out of it. “What was that?” he asked, sounding more baffled than he’d liked.

Chase offered him a kind smile. “The magic senses your true nature, and reacts accordingly. In your case, you are kind.” He reached a hand forward and pointed and Jack’s chest. “And therefore, it outpours your good luck out to those around you—it never has a chance to build up a reserve. This is no doubt how the magic was intended to work. We gods are fickle, after all.” He withdrew his hand. “I am in no need of luck—I can achieve victory without it. But luck, luck is powerful. And now that you’ve a reserve, the magic has taken the time to work its way inside you. Be a  _ part  _ of you.” He was shifting closer, knees almost touching Jack’s.

His hands reached out and grabbed Jack’s face, holding it still. Golden eyes met red and Jack all but  _ melted  _ at the honesty there. “You are… opening.” One of his hands fell away to gesture to Jack. His eyes widened; glowing blue moon blossoms were opening up, reaching toward the milky white moon. “You are blossoming—and it is  _ beautiful. _ ” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Jack’s forehead.”

“Hm.” Jack closed his eyes, wanting to kiss Chase. Chase was handsome and undoubtedly wealthy—if he wanted to think he was a god, then Jack would go along with it. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Chase let out a displeased grunt, but let his hands fall to Jack’s shoulders. “I hate to repeat myself. But it was a mere misunderstanding—a joke rather. One that was taken poorly. My temples have been scrubbed and my image erased from history for it.” He sounded bitter, which seemed a fitting emotion.

“Can you  _ prove  _ you’re a god?” Jack asked.

“Is not knowing of your magic good enough?”

Jack cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve seen my belly and my feet; you’ve seen the raised skin.” He pointed out. “You could tell I was god-touched just from that. And my magic is easy enough to discern. Being a god is a hard thing to sell.”

Chase was expressionless for a moment and then proceeded to laugh merrily. “Very well then, what do you suggest I do?” he asked; he was leaning over Jack now, unfolding his legs. His face was extremely close, breath hot on Jack’s neck. A soft whimper left Jack as he leaned back, legs unfolding and parting without his permission.

Jack was about to offer some sort of sarcasm in response, and then  _ gasped.  _ Pressure pressed down on him, like being suffocated. Chase stared down at him—the gold of his irises spread, blotting out his pupil and sclera so the entire area was covered in it. His thick hair spilled forward over his shoulders, spreading the scent of dried blood and gunpowder over Jack’s face—Jack let out a small squeak of fear, though it was quickly calmed when lips found his neck.

The pressure abated almost immediately; archaic tattoos shone on Chase’s skin, almost glowing sickly in the soft blue of the flowers. Jack couldn’t recognise them, didn’t want to. Alarm bells demanded he bow or flee, but he was in a position to do neither.

“Is that enough  _ proof _ , little rabbit?” Chase’s voice was huskier than it had ever been, underlaid with something akin to static. It rumbled out of him like a tidal wave. “How shocked you look—if this were any other situation, I would be delighted to see it.”

“You’re a  _ god, _ ” Jack whispered.

“I am.”

“A god is laying on top of me.” Jack was trying to sit up, but Chase had pressed his mouth back against his neck, mouthing at his pulse point. “A god is necking me—why are you necking me? We’re in the middle of a field. I’m not going to let you fuck me in a field.”

Chase let out a huff at that, and sat back up.

“Why do you want to fuck me anyway? I mean, even if you were cast from…” he gestured upward, hesitating to say the word  _ heaven.  _ “…You have better options than me.”

“I have no other wish than to have you,” Chase corrected, sitting back on his heels. “You are  _ luck.  _ I am not sure who laid their mark on you, but they have made you powerful. I am drawn to you like a moth the light—you belong at my side.” His hands smoothed over his pants, brushing stray, crushed petals from them. His eyes flickered and shined in interest as Jack rearranged his shirt. “I would very much like to see you naked as well. And bed you.” He straightened, turning his attention to the forest beyond. “I would like to make you scream on my cock, as you deserve.”

Jack’s face heated and he rolled over to plant it into the grass. Chase laughed and laid a hand on his back.

“Come with me, Jack. I will take back what they’ve wrongfully taken from me. I will place you amongst the moon and stars. I will give you the life you  _ deserve. _ ” Chase was kneading Jack’s back now, working out stress. “Jack.”

“That’s a big thing to ask,” Jack muttered into the earth.

“It is. I am not short on time,” Chase told him, poking at his side. Jack turned slightly, looking at him. He laid a hand on Jack’s thigh, squeezing it. “We have forever. We will have forever. Take your time.”

Jack rolled all the way over, not surprised when Chase climbed onto him again. He began to kiss him, every press of his lips chaste and gentle.

“No fucking in the middle of a field,” Jack reminded him sternly when hands went to pluck at his belt. “Besides, I’ve never…” He cleared his throat. “…I’ve never been lucky enough to get laid.”

“Then, perhaps it is luck that a god will take your virginity?” Chase offered, smoothing his hand over Jack’s shirt. He pressed his index fingers against the tiny triangle near his navel, rubbing it gently. He then dipped back down, kissing at the corners of Jack’s mouth. Chase’s tongue danced along the thin seam there, and once granted entrance, dipped inside to better taste Jack.

Jack let out a muffled noise of appreciation, lids fluttering. Chase wiggled an arm under him to pull him to an angle better suited for getting kissed silly—Jack’s arms went to wrap around Chase’s neck, tight and unforgiving in their hold. Chase was a  _ god.  _ A one looking for vengeance, sure. But a  _ god. _

“Maybe I really am lucky,” Jack murmured when he was given a chance to breathe. “I should try and play the lottery sometime.”

Chase waved a hand nonchalantly. “No need to bother with that. I will take care of any and all funding you need.” He pressed their foreheads together. “I intend to do whatever I need, to convince you to stay. No matter what it happens to be.”

“This is sounding a lot like I just have a god playing sugar daddy.” The observation popped out of his mouth before he could stop it. He looked up at Chase in horror, watching his mouth turn into an amused smile.

Jack swallowed.

_ If only it were that simple. _

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Thank you for taking the time to read this fic!
> 
> Song for this fic:  
> Mote of Dust Suspended in a Sunbeam by Juan Maria Solare
> 
> Want to stay updated? Want to chat or shoot me a prompt? Have an idea that you'd like me to consider for this pairing? Feel free to click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to do all these things and more!


End file.
